Living with Mrs Neale Hurston was wonderful, she set me off to school in the mornings with a full lunch box, I came home to a wonderful roast dinner, usually meatloaf, Mrs Neale Hurston made a fine meatloaf, and she sent me off to bed with a warm mug of coco. She treated me like I was her own daughter and I loved her for it. We got a lot of strange looks from the neighbours, a white girl staying with a coloured women was not common and it was most certainly frowned upon, we kept it to ourselves for the most part, but the majority of the town new, especially when I went to a church full of coloured people, I loved it though, they were very welcoming to me and treated me as if I was one of them; It always sadend me that they could be so accepting when our society was doing everything in its power to make them feel like outcasts. I stayed with Mrs Neale Hurston until my senior year of high school, her husband had just got back from the war and wasn’t very happy to find a white girl living in his house. He tore through the house, smashing pictures off the walls, the freshly backed banana cake was now in pieces and wine glasses shattered on the floor while Mrs Neale Hurston stood in shock, her whole body violently shaking, tears streaming down her face as she watched her husband go on a rampage. I stood frozen behind the bathroom door, watching the scene play out. Wishing I could comfort Mrs Neale Hurston the way she had done for me so many times, but there I stood, frozen unable to move as if my feet were permantly glued to the ground.
‘Those white men treated me like I was one of them Japanese, do you know what that feels like to have someone from your own country treat you like the enemy. I don’t want that in my own home Neale. She had better be gone by the time I get back’ he shouted. Fist clenched to his sides as he pushed past Mrs Neale Hurston causing her to stumble and fall onto the hard wooden floors, her hands covering her face as she sobbed forcefully into them. The sight of her falling, snapped me out of my days and my legs soon found their strength again and I was soon at her side.
‘Its alright, Mrs Neale Hurston you have had me for such a long time already and I’m ever so greatfull, it’s probably about time I be headed off. Momma left me some money, I’ll be fine.’ I soothed. My head swam with thoughts. ‘what am I going to do?’ ‘how am I going to surive?’ ‘Will I ever see her again?’ I forced my eyes open and took a calming break as I quietly stood up and walked over to my room, packed a bag of the little things I did own and tip toed over to the door.
‘Goodbye Mrs Neale Hurston, I’ll be seeing you.’ I blinked away the tears as I closed the door behind me. The faint sobs of Mrs Neale Hurston aching in my heart.
1957
After I finally got my head around leaving Mrs Neale Hurston I walked to the bus station and hoped on the first bus I saw. ‘New York City’ as soon as I hoped of the bus I knew I had made the right decision. It was hard to leave behind my old life, but it was time to start a new one, one that would finally get out from the outside and become an insider, a person with friends. The city was as beautiful as I had imagined and white and coloured people both walked the streets equailly, it was like a whole other universe to me. There was still some hostile attitude towards one another but nothing like I had previously experienced. I spent my first nights in the city under a bench at central park and brought my first meal after four days. I had been living off the scraps people left around the city. I showered in the many public toilets and by day I wondered around the city like a normal tourist and by night I watched the city lights. New York took my breath away, the fast cars, busy people off to work, like they had some sort of purpose I praid to be one of them, wearing a Coco Chanel suit. It gave me chills just thinking about it. The women always looked so put together, with their light coloured dresses and matching high heels, hair pulled back and pined perfectly, their lips lined with the most beautiful lipsticks I had ever seen. To me they were all beautiful, each and every one of them, and the way they all laughed together, sipping tea and passing out baked goods, I craved to be one of them. To be considered worthy enough of the elite.
I got a job at a burlesque club in Manhattan, back then it was okay to go bare breasted, I never did though, although I did get plenty of offers, I just could never bring myself to do it. Even if it did mean more money for food that week, I was never that desperate. I tended to just help Georgia behind the bar. It was a fine place, had a little old room up stairs that I got to stay in. the owner was a coloured man called Randel Bethune he had no problem hiring white women, the only rule was that we were to treat everybody the same, even the customers. It was easy for me to do although the others did have a hard time, some of them were brought up with parents like mine, convinced that a person’s skin colour made them diseased.
‘ I don’t even understand why they are even allowed in here, I don’t want them fawning all over me. I am a white woman. It’s just not natural.’ I overhead Maria talking to one of the other dancers.
‘You do realise that they only thing that makes them different than any other man in her is that they are black right?’ Rosalie answered. Sending a wink my way. I smiled back at her, happy to have someone else on my side.
1958
The year Johnny Foote entered my life…
No comments:
Post a Comment